Her Hesitant Heart (14 page)

“I can think of a hundred objections,” the post commander said. “There might be a huge outcry
from the parents of these students, or from the officers’ families. Major Randolph?”

“I can’t think of a single objection,” he said firmly. “Would you be willing to pay some tuition?”

“I would,” Ecoffey said promptly. “Only name it.”

“Might I ask why you are doing this?” Susanna asked. “How long has …”

“Maddie Wilby,” Ecoffey said.

“… been there? And why?”

“She came with her mother from Denver before Christmas.” Ecoffey shrugged. “I did not know of the child until Claudine Wilby arrived. Why am I doing this?” He shrugged again. “Perhaps I care.” He glanced at the post surgeon. “There is more. We will talk.” He bowed to Susanna. “Madam, she is a charming child.”

“Is she your daughter?” Susanna asked, her voice soft.

Apparently not surprised by her question, even though Major Townsend stared in amazement, Ecoffey shrugged again. “I knew Claudine briefly in Denver. Who can tell? Good day, Mrs. Hopkins.”

The three men left. Susanna stared at Private Benedict. “I used to teach at an exclusive girls’ school in Carlisle, Pennsylvania,” she said.

“And I clerked in a store in Hartford, Connecticut,” Anthony said, his voice equally mystified. “Who knew the army would be so interesting?
How much do you think Major Randolph will charge for tuition?”

“I rather hate to think where the money is coming from.”

She thought about Maddie Wilby while her night class members sounded out words to each other. When they left, she stayed in Maeve’s warm parlor, telling the sergeant’s wife what had happened that afternoon.

“Do you think the other families here on Suds Row will have objections?” Susanna asked.

Maeve shook her head. “What business is it of theirs? Poor child.”

My own child has no mother
, Susanna thought. “Maybe not so poor. Maybe we should remind ourselves that she has a mother who loves her.” It was food for thought.

She was glad Joe Randolph came to escort her home by himself, without Nick.

“I put Saint Paul in charge of counting sheets in the linen closet,” Joe said as they started across the parade ground. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“What else did Ecoffey tell you?”

“He wants me to visit Claudine Wilby. Apparently she is ill. Will you come with me?”

“Me? Now?”

“You. Now.”

“I’m afraid.”

“You’re Maddie Wilby’s teacher. Let’s meet her.”

God knows he didn’t want to keep bullying Susanna Hopkins, but there was no overlooking her fright as they sat in the ambulance, bumping over the bad road between Fort Laramie and Three Mile Ranch. Maybe if he kept up some informative chatter she would be less intimidated.

“I hardly need to tell you that Three Mile Ranch is off-limits to all military personnel, but the boys have a way of sneaking off.”

Her faint smile encouraged him. “I’m surprised you could dredge up enough iron-willed soldiers to accompany this ambulance,” she said in a faint approximation of a joke.

“Ah, that is the beauty of having our cavalry troops gone north to fight Northern Roamers. Those men riding alongside are mounted infantry, and they are doing their dead level best to stay in the saddle. I also showed them several textbook pages of diseased organs before I got into the ambulance. I anticipate no trouble.”

“Major Randolph, you are amazing,” she said.

“Merely desperate,” he assured her. “Let me tell you about this place. Jules Ecoffey, an enterprising Swiss, runs it with his partner Adolf Cuny, another enterprising Swiss. They also operate Six Mile Ranch about …”

“Six miles from here in another direction,” Susanna said.

“My dear, you are wise beyond your years,” Joe teased. “Precisely. Both establishments have a legitimate
purpose of supplying miners headed for the Black Hills. Prostitution is a side venture, apparently started a few years back when business was slow. I visit both places to stitch up bar fight wounds and treat the clap. I hope you are not too disappointed in me to know that post surgeons are the only persons at Fort Laramie officially allowed here. Al Hartsuff takes his turn, when he is here. Our contract surgeon, long gone, was too squeamish.”

“Have you visited Claudine before?” Susanna asked, then put her hands to her face. “Oh, you know what I mean!”

“Of course,” he replied with a chuckle. “No. Jules said she has been here only a month or two. I do not know what I will find.”
But I suspect
, he thought.

The ambulance driver took them directly to the large adobe building that Joe knew housed the saloon, restaurant and office. He held out his hand to help Susanna from the vehicle, and did not let go of it as he led her into the building.

It was early evening, and the saloon was nearly deserted. Joe had his own private chuckle to note how quickly the two men at the bar left the building. Those were two cases of drunkenness he would probably not have to treat tomorrow at sick call.

Jules Ecoffey appeared through a door beside the bar and gestured to them after a courtly bow so out of place in a hog ranch. Joe glanced at the
woman who clung to his hand with a death grip. She was pale, but her eyes were filled with resolution.
Would I be this brave, were our situations reversed?
he asked himself. He doubted it supremely.

Jules ushered them into a tiny office, the desk overflowing with papers. In the corner sat a little girl with a doll in her lap. Joe smiled to see her, a child with big brown eyes, auburn hair neatly arranged and that look of patience he was familiar with from children in fraught situations. He had seen that look many times during the Civil War.

Susanna went to the child immediately, kneeling beside her chair, exercising those fine instincts of woman, mother and teacher he already appreciated, perhaps never with the intensity he did now.

“You’re Maddie Wilby?” she asked. “What a lovely doll. I am Mrs. Hopkins and I will be your teacher.”

He left the office quietly with Jules. They went to the adobe building next door that housed six prostitutes.

“I put her and Maddie out here because each crib has two rooms.”

Big of you
, Joe wanted to say, but knew better.

Ecoffey knocked and then opened the door.

Only a blind man wouldn’t have seen the woman’s resemblance to the lovely child in the office. Only a blind man couldn’t have diagnosed her immediately. Joe didn’t even need to put his hand on her forehead. One look at her pale skin and exquisite
frailty told him everything. He silently gave her a month and not one day more.

He sat beside her anyway, calling “Mrs. Wilby,” until her eyes fluttered open in surprise, perhaps that he knew she had a last name. “I am Major Randolph, Fort Laramie’s senior post surgeon. I brought a Mrs. Hopkins with me. She will be Maddie’s teacher. They are together in Mr. Ecoffey’s office right now.”

He should have been prepared for the tears that filled Claudine Wilby’s brown eyes, but he was not, compelling him to admit to his own prejudices and judgments around prostitutes.
She loves her child, you idiot
, he reminded himself, as he dabbed at the woman’s tears. He doubted she was much beyond her middle twenties, aged prematurely by the hard life he wouldn’t even have wished on so vile a woman as Mrs. Dunklin.

He took his patient’s hand and squeezed it. She tried to return the gesture, but could do no more than curl her delicate fingers around his for a brief moment. Her eyes closed again, signaling that minuscule effort had exhausted her. He revised his estimate and gave her two weeks, no more.

“Maddie will be in good hands in Mrs. Hopkins’s class,” he said, his lips close to her ear now. “You needn’t worry about her. Save your strength. I’m going to prescribe some powders for you.”

She nodded, then opened her mouth to say something. Nothing came out except a sigh, which relieved him of telling her that his puny powders
would be monumentally ineffective against last stage consumption. Not that he would have; he could lie with the best of physicians, when confronted with death. He knew from experience that she might even rally a bit, thinking the medicine was doing some good.

She did not open her eyes again while he handed a packet to Ecoffey and instructed him in its use. To his credit, Ecoffey didn’t even blink when Joe insisted that the poor woman see no more clients.

“Can your other girls take turns sitting with her?” he asked, after pulling the coverlet higher on wasted shoulders.

“They already do,” Ecoffey replied, with considerable dignity. “And no, Major, she has seen no clients since the middle of January. We are not entirely devoid of feeling here.”

Joe accepted his quiet words as a well-deserved rebuke, and said nothing. As they walked back to the main building, Joe turned around when another door opened and a woman walked into Claudine’s crib.
Look out for her
, he thought,
and for heaven’s sake, leave this deadly profession when you can
.

He returned to the office to see Susanna sitting in Ecoffey’s swivel chair, reading to Maddie, who was snuggled on her lap. When she saw him and Ecoffey, she kissed the top of the child’s head and closed the book.

“We’ll have time for more reading tomorrow,” she whispered. Susanna spoke to Ecoffey. “Send her with a lunch, and a slate with chalk, if you
have such things here. We’ll give her a good place to learn.”

Susanna waited until the ambulance door had shut behind her before giving Joe her spectacles and covering her face with her hands. She shivered and shook, beyond tears, as he held her close. He told her what he had seen in the crib, and his diagnosis and prognosis. By the time they arrived at Fort Laramie, she had regained her spectacles and her composure, but made no objection to his arm around her slim shoulders, which were weighted with their own burdens.

When he helped her from the ambulance, she held his hand again for a long moment. “You say two weeks to a month?”

“No more.”

She turned to look into his face, giving him the full power of her own beautiful eyes. “I say more. No woman willingly surrenders a child, even for so unkind a visitor as death.”

He did not doubt her own prognosis.

M
addie Wilby fit into Susanna’s classroom as easily as though she had been there all term, reminding Susanna how flexible children could be. Maddie knew her letters and numbers already. By the end of the third day, the self-possessed child, obviously used to the company of adults, was helping the younger pupils with adding single columns.

“Monsieur Ecoffey lets me look at his ledgers,” Maddie had explained to her, in her matter-of-fact way. “Each morning I check his totals from the night’s business—two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve.”

“That’s a questionable way to learn to count by twos,” Susanna told Joe when she came to the hospital a few nights later to finish
Little Women
. “Joe, those women aren’t paid very much for services rendered.”

She knew she had shocked him with such a statement, but that he would see the humor of it.

“Susanna, do I see before me a rabble-rousing reformer?” he asked.

“I’m just a teacher,” she assured him.

“Just.” He took her hand, raised it to his lips, then turned back to the paperwork on his desk, as if such a gesture was something he did every day of his life.

“Are … are you practicing for Paris?” she asked, wishing she did not sound so breathless.

He just shook his head as a slow smile spread across his face. “Leave me alone. Go read to my vile patients! I love it when hardened veterans cry over Beth and worry about Amy.”

Susanna hoped every morning that Jules Ecoffey would be true to his word and get Maddie to school. And he did, depositing her at the warehouse and admonishing the child in quiet French to do her best for her mother’s sake.

The afternoon transfer was less reliable. Hand in hand with Rooney O’Leary, who had whispered to her earlier that he thought Maddie was pretty, Susanna walked the O’Leary’s son home, and then continued the quarter mile to the Rustic Hotel, a raw building that more than lived up to its name. She read to Maddie or sometimes just held her on her lap, until Ecoffey arrived.

He was invariably late. After the second day, Nick Martin accompanied her and sat with her as darkness fell. By the end of the week, the post surgeon came along, too, when Nick was busy. Once he rode out with Ecoffey and Maddie. When he
came back hours later, he slipped a note under the Reeses’ door for her. “Claudine is holding her own,” the note read. “I believe your prognosis is better than mine. JR.”

In all the turmoil, Maddie Wilby held her own, too, calling no attention to herself, but capable in a way that made Private Benedict shake his head in wonder. She always came to school as neat as a pin, her hair arranged beautifully in styles too old for her years, but lovely. To her amusement, Susanna observed two distinct styles of coiffure, which made her suspect that at least two of the Three Mile Ranch women were competing.

Maddie’s clothes were equally lovely. Only the sharpest of needlewomen could have detected they were cut down from larger sizes, or so Maeve Rattigan told Susanna when they stopped at the Rattigans’ for an after-school cookie.

“There must be plenty of willing hands at Three Mile,” Maeve whispered to her. “So stylish.”

The cookie habit had begun almost as soon as Maddie arrived. After school one day, Susanna had walked both of her after-school charges to Suds Row to visit Maeve, who had been pulling cookies from the oven when they arrived. After two days of this, the children just naturally veered to the Rattigans’, and Maeve did not disappoint.

Susanna knew Joe made visits to Three Mile Ranch as Claudine’s condition worsened. He stopped by the Reeses’ quarters a week later, long after taps.

“I know it’s late.” He nodded to Emily, whose eye were full of fright. “Now, now, Emily. No news from the field,” he soothed. “I just wanted give Susanna something. Rest your mind.”

Susanna lowered her voice. “Is Claudine still alive?”

He handed her a note with delicate, spidery handwriting.

“‘Merci,’”
Susanna read. “That’s all?”

“It took all her strength, Fifi said.”

“Fifi?”

“One of the girls,” he replied, and held out a book. “This was at the hospital addressed to you, and it’s from a more dignified source.”

Puzzled, she took the book and let out a whoop that made Emily look up from her knitting in surprise. “
Little Men!
Oh, my! Is there a note?”

“Look inside.”

She did. “‘I have heard through the infamous army grapevine that you just completed
Little Women
,’” she read. “‘We just finished this at our house, and it’s the book that follows Jo March’s adventures. Keep it as long as you need it.’” Susanna ran her finger over the signature. “‘Mrs. Andrew Burt.’” She looked at the post surgeon. “She is so kind.”

Emily looked, too. “Susanna, do you have a champion?” she asked, amazement in her voice.

“Just a nice lady. That’s all,” she replied quietly, when she really wanted to dance around the room. “Please tell her thank-you for me, Major.”

“Tell her yourself,” he said, as he opened the door again. He touched Susanna’s nose. “I
told
you it was just a matter of hanging on a little longer.”

“You did,” she agreed, wishing he would stay there. She put her hand on his arm to detain him. “We’ve heard rumors of battle, and Emily and Katie are on edge. If you know anything …”

“I’ll tell you immediately,” he whispered back, his eyes on Emily sitting with her knitting, staring at the wall. He kissed Susanna’s cheek quickly. “Chin up.”

She tried to be severe with him. “You would do better to conjugate a French verb or two, rather than kiss me on the cheek like a Frenchman.”

“To be proper, I should kiss the other cheek, too,” he whispered, and did just that. “Do you know, Jules Ecoffey—whose French is excellent, if not his good taste—loaned me a scurrilous book of naked women and French text. It looks like more fun than conjugating everlasting verbs. So glad I didn’t hand you the wrong book just now. ‘Night, Susanna.”

Amazed, she stood in the open door, watching his jaunty walk as he crossed the parade ground. In another moment, he was whistling.

After school the next day, Susanna worked up her nerve to visit Elizabeth Burt. It took all her courage to knock on the door, and to her relief, the infantry captain’s wife opened her door wide and welcomed her.

“I was hoping you would visit me,” Mrs. Burt said. “Would you like some tea?”

Susanna was so terrified she didn’t think she could swallow, but she nodded. In another moment, she was seated in the parlor, teacup in hand.

“I wanted to thank you for the book,” she said, and took a sip. Peppermint. Just the way she liked it. “The men liked
Little Women
so well, and they are enjoying its companion now.”

“I thought they might. My husband blew his nose a lot when we were reading
Little Women!
”

She talked of inconsequentials then, and Susanna felt herself relaxing. By the time she left, she wondered why she had worried at all.

Mrs. Burt showed her out, touching her hand. “Mrs. Hopkins, would you object to cards here some evening with a few of my friends?”

Susanna felt her face drain of color. “I shouldn’t think …”

Mrs. Burt looked at her in a kindly manner. “You need never fear, in my home.” She touched her again. “Think about it, all right?”

March dragged, mainly because escort service between Fort Russell in Cheyenne and Fort Laramie was reduced to vital messages only, since so many mounted soldiers were in the Powder River country. The December and January newspapers had been around the fort twice, and were finally relegated to lining shelves and starting fires.

When Colonel Bradley, commanding officer
of the Ninth Infantry, arrived to relieve Major Townsend of duty, he brought mail with him, and a stack of newspapers. They followed the usual pecking order of rank, with dependents last, but Major Randolph brought Emily and Susanna one Pennsylvania paper on the sly.

“Captain Dunklin snatched the Gettysburg paper, but he wasn’t quick enough to grab the Carlisle one, too,” Joe said as he presented the newspaper to Emily with a flourish. “What a dog in the manger. I’m glad I outrank him. Use it well and pass it on.” He pointed to Susanna. “And
you
have a roomful of patients waiting to hear about Professor Bhaer’s school for boys at Plumfield. Need an escort?”

“Do you have time tonight for more French verbs?” she asked as they walked to the hospital. Susanna took a deep breath and regretted it. “My stars, what
is
that odor?”

“That is the fragrance of spring at Fort Laramie. While you are reading to a roomful of eager listeners, I will be composing a stiffly worded memo to the effect that it is time for the garrison to turn out and police the grounds. Don’t let me offend you—”

“You couldn’t possibly. I have heard it all,” she murmured.

“I’ll be the judge of that. During this long, cold winter, everyone from private to major—I am the notable exception—has been tossing the contents of chamber pots out into the snow, knowing said
contents will be covered by the next snowfall, and so on.”

“I know this for a fact,” Susanna said. “Pardon
your
blushes now!”

“It takes more than that to make me blush,” Joe retorted. “We are now at that moment of reckoning. Spring at Fort Laramie brings with it the bouquet of raw sewage. Welcome to my public health world. It’s even more fun than being a surgeon.”

“I had no idea your position was so exalted,” she joked. “Very well, you may write your memo. But there will be French verbs in your near future.”

Joe was still laboring over his memo when she finished reading, but there was Nick Martin to deposit her at the Reeses’ quarters, where Emily was still reading the Carlisle paper. Her eyes troubled, Emily gestured for her to come closer.

“What is it?” Susanna asked.

“Look.”

Susanna looked where Emily pointed, read it, and read it again. “Do you believe me now?” she asked finally.

Emily nodded. “I almost overlooked the article. It’s so small. ‘Frederick Hopkins of Hopkins Carriage Works has filed for bankruptcy,’” she read, taking the newspaper back. “There is such a list of creditors! But that is not the worst part.” She turned to another page and jabbed her finger. “Look at this letter from one of his creditors, blaming ‘the grain and the grape’ for his dereliction!”

“I was not wrong,” Susanna said quietly, but
there was no victory, not with her son facing ruin, too, and her so far away. She pulled on her coat and grabbed the newspaper from Emily, running up the hill to the hospital to arrive at Joe’s office, out of breath and her hair tugged out of its pins by the wind.

Nick stopped sweeping. Startled, Joe looked up from his paperwork. He was out of his chair in a moment, his arm around her, as she calmed herself. She still couldn’t talk, but she handed him the Carlisle newspaper and pointed to the article. He read it, and then she turned to the editorial page with the condemning letter. They stared at each other over the paper.

“Is there anything I can do, do you think, to get my son back?” she asked.

“We need a lawyer.”

She stared at him, still out of breath and wondering if she had heard him correctly. He set down the paper and put his hands gently on her face.

“I know what I said.
We
need a lawyer.” He glanced at Nick, who stood there leaning on his broom, looking at the article. “Nick, could you see if there is any of my bad coffee left in the ward?”

Joe sat her down and took the chair opposite her. He made no other move to touch her, but his expression seemed to reach out and caress her heart.

“This … this isn’t your fight, Major Randolph,” she said tentatively and formally, so unsure of herself.

“I rather believe it is,” he replied.

She tried again; the man needed to be reasoned with. “Major Randolph, I’m the scapegoat and bad example of this entire garrison.”

“Not lately,” he countered. “The people who matter know better. I happen to be one of them.”

He looked up when Nick returned with coffee. “Thanks. You might as well retire now, my friend.”

Nick shook his head. “She’s in trouble? I don’t like that.”

“I don’t either, Nick,” Joe said, speaking carefully to the big man. “It’s her son who could be in trouble, back in Carlisle. Susanna is fine.”

No, I’m not
, she thought, almost as a reflex, then let the matter work on her brain as a great feeling of relief covered her. And there was Nick, her champion, looking so concerned. “I
am
fine,” she told him, meaning it with all her heart, because it was suddenly true. “My son is in a difficult position because his father is facing ruin.” She put out her hand to Nick. “The wheels of justice move slowly, my friend.”

Nick nodded and left.

“You’ll have to reassure him. He
is
my champion, isn’t he?”

“I’m another one, Susanna,” Joe replied. “Casual travel between forts is so unsafe right now, but when things loosen up, we’ll go to Cheyenne for a lawyer. Coffee?”

She took the cup from him, sipped and made a face. “You haven’t a clue what to do in your
kitchen, or a hospital kitchen, or probably over a campfire.”

There was a long silence that Susanna knew better than to interrupt. She saw before her a man whose heart was as hesitant as her own, who years before had watched, powerless, as the dearest person in his life died a terrible death.
You need time
, she thought, as she set down the cup and rose.

“I’ll go back to Emily now. We’ll … we’ll worry about an attorney later.”

The look in his eyes told her he knew she wasn’t talking about attorneys. He nodded, then put his arms around her, holding her close until her arms went around him, too. They stood that way, her head against his chest, until he kissed the top of her untidy head and stepped away, professional again.

She hadn’t even removed her coat, so she waited while he put his on and doused the lamp. She followed him into the hall and waited while he walked into the ward and spoke to his night steward. Then, arm in arm, the two of them walked slowly, silently, down the hill. She noticed that his steps slowed as he passed his own quarters, almost as if he wanted to take her inside.